*

I can make do with the body jerking,
creaking like a vessel on cepiar waves.

The muscles spasm
a marionette with erratic stubborn limbs,
making soup
and my other liquidised cuisine
difficult to consume through
fleshy mounds where crumbling gravestones
once sprouted.

I'll do just fine covering wet patches
with a darker shade of nylon slacks
or stop the social life all together
if needs be.

Happily i'll flounder
through barren lands,
once fertile
full of blossoms
imprisoned in the earth's gasp,
but branches like my artheritic hands
reside there
grasping, fruitless, for
breath.
(like my wife will on those steeper inclines)

I'll joyfully have another alarm fitted
to warn me of the ever ambitious young men
bouncing balls off bungalow walls.
An alarm which will
squander the thieves
who visit and steal days gone by from me
in the evening twilight.

Strokes and immobility.
Tosh.

However,
the thought that sends a chill
down the curvature of my spine?

Waking up next to you
and finding you budged the queue.